


Let me die a happy man

by random_firework



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pre-Series, Teen Dean Winchester, Teen Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_firework/pseuds/random_firework
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accident during a hunt, 18-year-old Dean wakes up at the hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me die a happy man

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet - and its title - was inspired by the song Die a Happy Man by Nelly. 
> 
> Last warning: this is very, very angsty! (that's why it's rated Teen and Up and not General audience) I had never written anything that upsetting before so...don't read if you don't want to be sad.

“So what, we’re just gonna sit here and do nothing?”

“Sam, we tried everything…”

“So we try again! Maybe we missed something… There _has_ to be something, Dad! We can’t-”

“I don’t know what else to do, Sam.”

“You can’t be serious. You always have a plan!”

“Not this time.”

“But…No…No!”

Suddenly, the corridor outside of Dean’s room was quiet again. The only sounds he could hear were the beeps and the humming of the different machines he was linked to. The door opened gently and Dean opened his eyes to see his Dad enter the room. He sat in the chair next to the bed and rested a hand near his arm, not quite touching.

“How are you feeling, son?”

Dean watched his father attentively. He knew him like no one else on earth. His red eyes and the smile he put on told him everything he needed to know, but he asked nonetheless.

“What did the doctor say?”

John shook his head and smiled again. This time, tears rolled down his cheeks and he gripped Dean’s arm. Dean averted his eyes. He couldn’t watch his father fall apart like this, especially if he wanted to keep it together.

“How long?”

“Hours,” John murmured in a shaky exhale.

It hurt a little, like a sting in the heart, to hear that. Dean gulped with difficulty. Every little movement, every thought, seemed to cost him a lot and leave him breathless. He wondered if could really feel his heart slowing down or if it was just a side effect of the whole you’re-going-to-die-soon thing.

“Dean, I’m-”

“It’s okay, Dad.”

He knew his father had done everything he could to save him. It was just one they couldn’t win. With death – and morphine, probably – came a certain wisdom, he thought. Death, after all, happened all the time, especially in their line of work. It sucked, but it was there. And as long as he didn’t think about it too much, he could avoid the vertiginous feeling that made him clutch his sheets, and stay serene. 

“Sammy?” he asked, still staring at the ceiling. He noticed that his voice was shaking and it freaked him out a little. He didn’t like that. 

The hand his father put in his hair startled him. He hadn’t done that in a long time. It was pleasant, though, and Dean leaned into the touch.

“He’ll come around,” John promised. 

 

He did. Dean took sight of him, leaning against the frame of the door, while the doctor explained to him that they had opened him up to see there was really nothing they could do. His heart was too damaged. Dean listened distractedly. He didn’t need to hear any of that. What he needed was his little brother. He threw him a wink but Sam looked down just after. The doc seemed to understand, though, and finally left with a squeeze of his shoulder. 

Dean faintly felt John’s hand slipping off him when Sam came in, but all his attention was drawn to the boy walking in. Because it was a little boy that stood six feet away from his bed. All of Sam’s smug and wrathful 14-year-old attitude had left, leaving him as the five-year-old Dean used to send to sleep with a song. He tensed and scowled when John pat his shoulder on his way out.

“Cut him some slack, Sam. It’s not his fault.”

“It is,” Sam said, finally looking up at him before lowering his eyes again.

“Come here.”

Sam approached slowly. His shaggy hair fell over his red eyes and his face was all rumpled but what Dean noticed was the drying blood on his knuckles. The kid was clever but not smart enough not to hurt himself. 

“You gotta let go of that anger, Sam. It’s gonna consume you.”

“But this is so unfair! We never even went to the beach, or to Mexico, or Las Vegas…You’ll never even have your first legal drink! That’s…” Sam’s voice broke under all his tears.

“Hey, Sammy, listen to me. I had a good life. I never needed any of that.”

He wasn’t lying when he said that. Would it have been nice to build his own car or to take some vacation abroad? Yes, obviously. But he had done some good in this world. And he had had his Dad and his brother. It had been more than enough. He watched Sam wipe the tears from his face with his too-long sleeves. 

“Here,” he murmured. “Take my hand.” He smiled when he felt Sam’s fingers around his. “Now I’m happy.”

Sam smiled at him too, weakly. It was still a good smile. “Can I…climb in with you?”

Dean moved slightly to the left. It was hard; his limbs were beginning to become numb. He didn’t let it show, though, not to upset his brother. As Sam settled his head on his shoulder, Dean’s eyes fell on his tight fist.

“Whatcha holding there?”

Sam opened his hand. In his palm was the amulet he had given him years ago. “I thought maybe you’d like to have it,” he explained with a trembling voice.

“Yeah. Thanks, Sammy.”

Dean hadn’t enough strength to lift his head, but he let Sam press it against his chest, where it should be.

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo. You know I wouldn’t if I had the choice.”

“I know.” 

Dean closed his eyelids. He was really tired but he forced himself to collect his last strengths. He still had a few things to say to Sam. He had a lot, actually. He wanted to remind him to put his thumb outside his fist when he hit, otherwise it could break; to push firmly on his foot for the first impulse when he rode a bike; that he was proud to be his brother. That he loved him, too. He settled for the most important.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” he murmured. “I’ll haunt your ass if you don’t.” He felt Sam nodding. “No more this, ‘kay?” he added then, brushing his knuckles. 

Sam nodded again and Dean felt tears go through his hospital gown to wet his skin. He stroked his brother’s too-long hair and tried to pull him closer. For a moment, they stayed quiet. Dean thought about what he was about to ask next. It was ridiculous, selfish even, but he needed to know that somehow, someone’d still care.

“Will you…think of me? Not too often, I don’t want you gettin’ sad. Just…from time to time?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. His voice was shaking when he let out, after some time: “Of course, Dean, you know I will.”

“Good.”

 

John came back soon after. He sat in the chair and didn’t hesitate to hold Dean’s hand this time. Dean felt almost peaceful like this, with his father next to him and his brother in his arms.

At some point, Sam’s sobs stopped and he fell asleep. That’s when Dean wondered if he would die if he fell asleep too. He suddenly understood what it meant. Dying. Never being able to laugh again, or ruffle his brother’s hair. What would it be like, after? Empty? Would he be alone? Conscious? Fear twisted his guts. But he was tired. So, so tired. He could only move his head now, the rest of his body was already paralyzed. He turned his head to look at his Dad, who gripped his forearm tightly. He was blurry – everything was – but Dean could see he was crying.

“You can let go, Dean. I’m right here, I’m not leaving you. It’s gonna be okay.”

That’s when he saw her, standing just behind his father, in the corner of the room. She was smiling at him; beautiful in her white dress, even more than in his memories. Pure; like an angel. His mom. He understood that it was time, then. He buried his nose in Sam’s hair, inhaling the scent of his baby brother one last time – “Goodbye, Sam” – and closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed these 1k3 words of angst! Thank you for reading.  
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated (especially considering how much it hurt me to write this) :)


End file.
